


Clearly Aware Of the Stars

by jenish (phizzle)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-27
Updated: 2006-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/jenish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For jocondite <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	Clearly Aware Of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> For jocondite &lt;3

Among Brendon's finest moments were the first time he played a concerto on the piano at home, the day he discovered Queen, and his seventh kiss. The day he wore a shirt to school that proclaimed in Spanish 'My mother is a hamster' was not among these moments. He had quickly learned to use a phrase book for reference whenever wearing garments with slogans in other languages.

Picking out what to wear to the concert of your new labelmates was, Brendon decided, a tricky business. The decision had to be made: to go with overly casual and friendly, or professional and musicianlike, or something in between.

In the end, Brendon decided not to go as Brendon Urie, How Do You Do; nor as Brendon Urie, Professional Musician; nor Brendon Urie, Soon-To-Be Rock Star; he decided just to go as Brendon Urie, That Kid Who's In A Band And Wants To Hear Some Music.

This mostly involved jeans.

He grabbed a shirt at random from his drawer and checked it didn't say anything that would embarrass him – it just read 'LET IT BE' so he figured it was alright – and pulled it on. Quick check in the mirror, and he was ready to go.

"See you tomorrow, Mom," he called out as he opened the front door.

"Have a good time," she called back from three rooms away, and he stepped into the snap of dusk. Then stepped back inside and grabbed a jacket, and stepped back out again.

After threatening not to start at all – "Stupid cold weather in the stupid winter," he muttered as he slammed his palm once into the steering wheel – he managed to get the engine going and drove to the venue. When he saw Ryan outside, he almost wanted to keep his jacket on, no matter how warm it got in there. Or possibly go home and change.

"Hey," Ryan greeted him as he got out of the car. "I called Pete, Adam's going to meet us out back."

"Wow, Ryan, you – really dressed up for this, huh?" Brendon took in Ryan's pinstriped trousers and vintage style t-shirt printed to look like a waistcoat and tie. Ryan looked down and shrugged.

"I guess. Come on, let's go." He grabbed Brendon's hand and led him to the back of the club.

A guy was waiting for them. "You must be Ryan and Brendon," he said when they approached. Ryan nodded and held a hand out to shake. "I'm Adam. Follow me, I'll take you to meet the others."

He led them through a door and down corridors that smelled like they'd probably never seen sunlight. Watery fluorescent lights flickered on the ceiling, and Brendon was glad someone had at least thought to paint the walls some kind of light beige or something, because he was already slightly queasy. Adam pushed a door open, and sound rushed out to meet them; and warmth, and the scent of something like a combination of fresh sweat, beer and anticipation. He squared his shoulders and stepped in.

"Guys, guys," Adam announced, "this is Ryan and Brendon. The ones Pete told us about, their band's on the label now. Ryan, Brendon, that's Mike, that's the Butcher, that's Tom, that's William, and that's Jon, our guitar tech and a big mooch."

"Hey, hey, one beer does not count as mooch," Jon protested, and Brendon was trying to take everyone in. All he got was a vague sense of dizziness, a slightly awkward feel to his body, and the impression that Jon had a nice smile and was probably a great guy. He automatically moved to sit in the spare seat next to him. "You agree with me, right?" Jon turned to him.

"Right, yeah, totally," Brendon nodded. Ryan was already talking to Adam and William, and Brendon heard Pete's name a couple of times.

Jon leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "So which are you, Ryan or Brendon?"

Somehow, the tiny knot at the pit of Brendon's stomach unwound. "Brendon," he answered, sinking back into the threadbare cushions on the tiny couch. "I'm the singer," he added for good measure, "and I play keyboards and stuff."

"I'm a bassist, usually," Jon smiled. "I was in a band with Tom. But I like tech work, so." It really didn't matter that Brendon hadn't asked. He felt himself relaxing further, and thought, this meeting your labelmates thing is alright. He unzipped his jacket, the cold from outside releasing its grip. "Hey," Jon said, "I like your shirt. You like the Beatles?"

"What?" Brendon glanced down. "Oh, right. Yeah."

"They're one of my favourite bands." Jon had all but lit up, and Brendon wished he could remember more of the songs right at that second.

"Yeah, they're great," he nodded. "I like the later albums, after they went to India and all that shit."

"When they were all high? Man, they could write better songs on acid than most bands can sober." Jon was smiling broadly at him, and Brendon nodded and smiled back.

He, Jon and Ryan watched from the side of the stage when the Academy performed. They were good, and Ryan could barely take his eyes off William. Brendon couldn't blame him; William was slinking all over the stage, leaning against his bandmates and lifting his shirt to run one palm over his stomach. Brendon watched, aware of Jon next to him, moving with the beat and humming along under his breath.

Mike and William bounded off the stage, arms around each other's shoulders, and Tom, Adam and Butcher swept up Ryan, Brendon and Jon with them on the way back to the small dressing room. William was saying things about the crowd and the set and one or two things they could work on for the next one, Adam and Mike were taking off sweat-stained shirts and grabbing towels, flicking the corners at each other, and Jon was talking to Tom about the guitars. Butcher was rummaging in a box to produce bottles of beer, though Brendon was fairly sure none of them were old enough to drink.

"I guess we should go soon," Ryan muttered into Brendon's ear when everyone around them began packing things away and talking about the next town they'd be playing.

"I guess," Brendon agreed, feeling like lingering. Ryan found William and said they'd be going, but any time the guys were in Vegas they should swing by, and maybe some day they'd tour together. William said that'd be great, and hugged both of them, followed closely by everyone else.

"We'll see you again," Tom assured them, and Brendon liked the feeling of inclusion. It was nice.

Ryan grabbed his hand again to tug him outside, but Brendon ducked back into the room, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. He found Jon packing away the guitars and said, "Uh, have you got a pen?"

"Um. Yeah," and Jon fumbled one from the top of a bag. He handed it to Brendon, who scribbled on the paper and gave it and the pen back.

"That's – my number," he said. "Call me, I mean – let us know how the tour goes, and stuff. If you want."

"Okay. Thanks." Jon pocketed the paper and smiled, warmth. "It was good meeting you, Brendon."

"You too." He paused awkwardly for a second without really knowing why, then dashed back out again. He and Ryan traversed the labyrinthine corridors and breathed the sharp night air.

Ryan's lips were twitching by the time they got into Brendon's car. "So," he said, like he was trying not to laugh, "you know how you've always said you're straight?"

Brendon checked the mirrors. "What? Yeah?"

Ryan was out and out smiling now, with no small amount of glee. "Dude, you totally have a crush on Jon."

Brendon quickly glanced at him and then his blind spot. "Shut up, I do not."

"'Do not' as one word is 'donut'," Ryan giggled, and Brendon hated that stupid phrase Ryan and Spencer had made up.

"What does that even _mean_, seriously?" He got them onto the road.

"Calling bullshit, Brendon. You were practically glued to his side the entire night."

"So? You were practically glued to William's."

Brendon was watching the road so diligently he almost missed the look Ryan was giving him. At the silence, he looked up, and saw raised eyebrows. "Okay, what? Seriously, Ry."

"Yeah, seriously," Ryan said.

"Dude. Pete _and_ William?"

"Oh, _don't_." Ryan sank down in his seat a few inches and bit his lip. "Talk about something else, I'll be alright in a minute."

"Jesus, Ryan." Brendon watched the road, silent for a moment. "Are you back yet?"

"Almost." Ryan's eyes were closed. Brendon waited. "Okay, I'm done. What were we talking about?"

"I have no idea, I'm distracted by how _gay_ you are, seriously."

"Oh, come on." Ryan was looking at him from between his lashes; Brendon glanced, saw, put his eyes back to the road. "You can't tell me that if Jon turned up at your house in just a long coat, you wouldn't put music on loud and hope your parents were out."

Brendon was silent.

Ryan cackled.

"Shut the fuck up, I don't – don't fucking _do_ that to me, Ry." Brendon wondered if he'd ignite if he blushed any harder. Spontaneous combustion might be preferable to this conversation.

Ryan patted his knee in what was probably meant to be a reassuring way. "You'll get used to it."

"What, you giving me shit or the Jon thing?"

"I _knew_ there was a Jon thing," Ryan crowed.

"Screw you, that's why you _tormented me_."

"Ooh, Brendon, don't be such a drama queen." Ryan giggled, apparently almost beside himself with glee. He paused, possibly for emphasis. "Naked Jon," he said.

"What the fuck?"

"Naked Jon, _in your bed_."

"Shut the fuck _up_."

"Naked Jon, in your bed, on his knees, saying he wants you."

"Do you _want_ to run us off the fucking road?"

"No." Ryan was back to giggling. Brendon hated Ryan. "I want you to admit you would totally do Jon Walker."

"_Okay_, I would totally do Jon Walker, and I gave him my fucking phone number, are you happy now?" Brendon thunked his head briefly against the steering wheel.

"Don't miss the turning," Ryan said through his delighted giggles. Brendon _really_ hated Ryan fucking Ross.

"You sound like a fucking girl," he said. He sort of wanted to curl away and inward, but he just kept driving.

"Says the new gay boy. Oh," Ryan's eyes widened, "you have so much to _learn_, there's a whole world out there –"

"Just fucking stop, okay? Jonathan Walker is one guy, _one guy_, and –"

"Wait, his name's Jonathan?"

Brendon paused. "He didn't tell you that?"

"He _told_ you that? If he calls, date him, Brendon, seriously."

"Oh God." Brendon was glad he was pulling up outside Ryan's house. He rested his head on the steering wheel after parking and squeezed his eyes shut. "You're never going to fucking let up, are you?"

Ryan leaned in and kissed his neck. Brendon could only assume he'd been aiming for his cheek. "Nope."

"I hate you."

"Come inside, it's cold out here."

"I can leave, you know, go home."

"Empty threat, Brendon. Empty threat." Ryan slid out of the car. Brendon tilted his head to watch him unlocking his house's front door and beckoning.

"Oh God," he sighed, undoing his seatbelt.

"You know what the best thing to do first is?" Ryan asked, once they were inside and in pyjamas (he left a pair, sometimes, and the fabric softener here was nicer than the one his mom used) and Brendon was huddled in a sleeping bag on Ryan's bedroom floor.

"What?" Brendon asked, hoping they were on to a different subject entirely.

"Practice," Ryan informed him, and Brendon had a sinking feeling that the subject hadn't changed at all.

"What do you mean, Ryan?"

"I _mean_, have you ever even made out with a guy before?"

"No, and even if I did want to make out with Jon, and, okay, I'll think about that in a minute, but – okay, so I want to make out with Jon. Doesn't mean he wants to make out with me." Brendon fiddled with the zipper on the sleeping bag, keeping his eyes fixed on it.

"But what if he does? What if he calls you, and is like, hey, next time we're in the same city why don't we get together for dinner, maybe see a show, have some sex, that kind of a thing."

Brendon took the only course of action he could see open to him at this point. He buried his head in the sleeping bag and groaned, "Shut _up_, Ryan," the sound muffled. "You're _not helping_."

Ryan removed the sleeping bag from about Brendon's person. This took some time, and not a small amount of struggle. "Because," Ryan grunted, "you won't _let_ me help."

"What-" Brendon was cut off as Ryan, who by this time had wriggled his way into Brendon's lap, pressed their mouths together.

Brendon tried to pull away, but Ryan cupped the back of his head, and Brendon sort of kissed him back because, there was a _mouth_ and it was _on his_ and Ryan … well, he knew what to do with his tongue, and, stuff. Brendon stopped thinking and just kissed, sliding one hand down Ryan's arm and to his waist, and – he was kind of built like a girl. A little bit. It wasn't _that_ much different from kissing a girl, but it kind of was, and either way Brendon decided he liked it. Well, he didn't _dis_like it.

Ryan pulled away after a while. Brendon made a soft sound.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" Ryan was smiling at him now, and it was quieter than most of the smiles Brendon had seen on him tonight.

"I guess," Brendon replied, absent. "I mean, no, it was – why'd you do that?" he asked, cognition catching up with him.

"Because it's different to kissing a girl, and you don't want to be thinking about how you don't even know how to kiss a guy when you're in front of Jon, right?"

Maybe Brendon didn't hate Ryan so much. Then again, maybe he did. "Well," he said. He tilted his head to the side slightly. "How'd I do?"

"Not bad. I mean, what, you want a critique?"

"No, Ryan, I want you to tell me it was awesome and I'm the best kisser ever."

"Because your ego really needs a boost, Brendon." Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," he said, but fondly this time.

Ryan was silent for a minute, though neither of them moved. "You know, if you wanted help with other stuff," he left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

"What – what do you mean?" Brendon's heart pounded.

Ryan sighed in exasperation. "You want to date Jon, right? Whenever you see him next time, you're going to want to bang him, yes or no?"

"Fuck, Ryan, I – _yes_, okay? What do you fucking want from me, a signed confession?"

"Well, do you have any idea what to do with a guy?"

Brendon definitely fucking hated Ryan. "I'm not even going to answer that." He started to get up, but Ryan held his wrists gently and sat on his legs.

"Don't be pissed, Brendon," Ryan sighed. "I'm trying to _help_. Seriously, what if something happened with Jon?" He waited until he was sure Brendon was listening. "I bet he knows how to give blowjobs," he added, sly smile in place and Brendon had _never hated him so much_.

"You're trying to kill me," he whispered.

"I'm trying to get you _laid_," Ryan corrected him. "You'd think you'd be okay with that."

"Ryan, all you're trying to do is tell me I'm ill-equipped to have sex with Jon, and I don't really need you to tell me that, okay?" Brendon deflated. Ryan made a frustrated noise in his throat.

"Just don't fucking hit me," he muttered, and before Brendon could ask what the fuck he was talking about, Ryan had his hand inside Brendon's underwear. Brendon jerked backwards.

"What the _fuck_, Ryan?"

"Just _trust me_, okay? The first time you have sex with a guy, it's always weird, and if you want this guy to be something other than an awkward teenage fuck you'll be embarrassed about later, I suggest you practice with someone you trust." The argument did, Brendon had to admit, have some sort of logic. Except that it involved _having sex with Ryan_. Who was one of his best friends, and not the guy he was kind of gay for.

"I'm not sure I trust you any more," Brendon pointed out. "Seriously, Ryan, you're propositioning me."

"Look, if you really don't want to do it, that's cool, you don't have to. But sex is like music, Brendon, it's always better with practice. I mean, think of the first songs you ever wrote, and think of the songs we're writing now. Imagine if Jon saw the first ones, _then_ imagine if he just saw the latest ones."

Brendon thought about that. "That – kind of makes sense, but – Ryan, I don't – I mean, Jon is the only guy I've ever wanted to – _you_ know."

"Get naked and sweaty with? Bite his lip and lick his neck?"

"Would you _stop_ with the fucking imagery?"

Ryan said nothing.

"Who did _you_ practice with, if it's such a huge thing?" Brendon was losing. And he was starting not to care so much if he lost, somehow. It _did_ make a kind of sense. Until the 'sex with Ryan' part.

"Spencer," Ryan said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But – but Spencer's straight! Didn't he and Brent date those twins last month?"

Ryan shrugged. "I wanted to practice, he was curious, we're good friends. We sometimes still do it, you know," he added, "if I feel like, I don't know, I'm out of practice or whatever. Or he just wants some head and doesn't have a girlfriend at the time."

Brendon didn't quite know how to begin to deal with those sentences.

Ryan patted his knee again. "You don't have to," he repeated. "I'm good at head, though," he added, just when Brendon was starting to feel reassured.

"What?"

"Come on, why do you think Spencer keeps asking me to go down on him?"

"I – didn't even know he _does_ until just now, and what the fuck."

Ryan looked at him sideways. "That's what 'play some mouth organ' means, Brendon." The bottom of Brendon's world promptly fell out.

"Holy _shit_, you're fucking kidding me. I thought you were learning harmonica or something."

Ryan nearly doubled over with giggles. "Oh, Brendon," was all he could get out. He petted the top of Brendon's head.

"Shut the fuck up." Brendon folded his arms. "I definitely don't want to have sex with you now, Ryan."

"Wait," Ryan squeezed out through his giggles, "you did before?"

Brendon got up and left the room. He heard Ryan's giggles all the way down the stairs, behind him. They caught up just in front of the door.

"Brendon, wait." The giggles were subsiding, leaving him just breathless. "Wait, you – I said, you don't have to. Seriously. I'm just offering because you're one of my best friends, and I trust you, and I want to help out."

"You keep saying that," Brendon didn't turn around, just leaned his head on the front door, "but Ryan, all you've made me is convinced I'm inadequate for gay sex, and kind of turned on, so just – just leave it, alright?"

He felt Ryan move closer to him, footsteps quiet on the carpet, _shh, shh_. Ryan's hand came around to splay on his stomach, dip back into his underwear. Brendon bit his lip and breathed in, eyes closed, not thinking about this. Ryan pressed against Brendon's back, hand pulling softly, and Brendon tilted his hips back and forth, and this was okay, this was really kind of okay, actually. He made a tiny desperate sound in his throat when Ryan rubbed the pad of his thumb up and down and _over_ and _around_ and he wasn't even as good at getting himself off as Ryan was, fuck. He bucked, and felt Ryan press an open mouth to the back of his neck, kissing wetly.

"Fuck," Brendon muttered, toes curling against the carpet, hands pressed against the door and eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck, Ryan, _fuck_."

"We can, if you want," Ryan murmured against his neck, voice scratchy and raw and _fuck_. Brendon's hips snapped and he came all over Ryan's hand and his pyjamas and shit, he didn't have a spare pair. He had a fleeting thought, as the afterglow began settling in and tidying up the shards left by the aftershocks of his orgasm, that maybe he was a little bit more gay than he'd thought. Which wasn't, perhaps, such a bad thing.

Ryan nuzzled the top of his back and turned him around and kissed him, Brendon's eyes still closed, and it was definitely not such a bad thing. "Ryan," he breathed.

"I've got condoms upstairs," Ryan whispered. "And lube."

"Such a good little gay boy," Brendon couldn't resist.

"Hush," Ryan smiled against his lips. "Come back upstairs," and his voice was still low and since when has _that_ voice, inviting him back upstairs, done _this_ to him? _Maybe since he got me off in his front hall_, he thought, and concluded that was probably it.

He followed Ryan back up the stairs and watched as he lay out on the bed and beckoned, and Brendon thought, this is somebody's wet dream, surely. _Ryan_ is somebody's wet dream, and he couldn't work out whether he was Brendon's, or Spencer's, or hell, maybe even Pete's. He figured it probably didn't matter, since the wet dream was currently taking both of their clothes off with languid slowness and more wet kisses to Brendon's skin, and he was kind of enjoying it.

"You don't have to do anything," Ryan said, mouth half full of Brendon's neck, "you don't want to."

"Okay," Brendon tried to nod, chin connecting softly with Ryan's head. The reverberations made Brendon's tongue click against his teeth. "Um, Ryan, this kind of might be a bit – I mean, Ryan, when I – I was fucking _straight_ this morning."

"Ah." Ryan pulled away and regarded him. "You're freaking out."

"Well, _kinda_." _I'm naked, in my best friend's bed, and he is also naked, and wants to have sex with me, and what the fucking shitting fuckiting fuck._

Ryan untangled himself carefully, keeping a little physical contact. "'S okay. I told you the first time is always weird. We could just talk, or," he brightened, "I could tell you more about naked Jon."

Brendon buried his face in the pillow. "Do you have to?" he asked, two thirds of the sound making it out. The rest collected in the hollow of his upper lip.

Ryan petted his hip. "Just think, when I'm through with you, Jon'll be like, _wow_ Brendon you're dynamite in bed."

"You're like my gay Yoda," Brendon mumbled. "And I cannot fucking believe I just said that."

"Good, will you learn to fuck how." Ryan's Yoda voice wasn't _too_ far off. "Grammatically flawed, but rearranging syntax is hell," he added, voice back to normal.

"Ryan," Brendon lifted his head to point out, "you just did a Yoda impression, and then made comments about its _grammar flaws_, and we're in bed together. What is wrong with this picture?"

"It should have been 'well'," Ryan answered. "Well, will you learn to fuck how."

Brendon stared at Ryan for a full minute.

"…Naked Jon," Ryan reminded him when the silence had stretched to breaking point and beyond.

"That's losing all imagery the more you say it." Brendon rested his head on the pillow again.

Ryan leaned close to his ear. Voice the texture of hot caramel, he murmured, "Jon, with only his skin on and nothing else, in your bed, bending over for you to fuck him. He makes noises when you do, and his head goes back, and you can _see_ him, eyes closed, mouth just that little bit open and you know it means it feels good for him, _really_ good, and he wants you never to stop."

"Fuck," Brendon breathed, blindly inching towards Ryan's mouth, "you're going to write porn and make me sing it, aren't you?"

"I am now," Ryan smiled, and kissed him. Brendon rolled to lean over him, kissing back, slowly pressing his pelvis down. Ryan arched up. "Top drawer," he whispered against Brendon's mouth. Brendon reached for the drawers standing next to Ryan's bed, and opened the top one, tugging out a box of condoms and a bottle of lubricant.

"Ryan," Brendon pulled away to open the box, "why is your lube blue?"

Ryan shrugged. "I got a box of different ones, that's the next tube from it. Blueberry flavour," he added.

"Seriously, flavoured lube." Brendon put his face to Ryan's shoulder and sighed. "I think my level of gay just went up, like, five notches."

Ryan puffed a laugh and kissed him, taking a condom out of its packet without looking. He rolled it on to Brendon. "You have good recovery time," he noted. "Advantage."

"Yeah, either that or I've never _done_ this before, Ry. You ever see American Pie?"

"Shut up and pay attention, here comes the interesting bit." Ryan pulled away and showed Brendon two fingers, covered in lube. "Now watch." He wriggled slightly away from Brendon's body so he had enough room, and spread his legs, working his fingers. He pushed inside, biting down on his lip. "Can you see?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah I can see, I can see that, Ryan." Brendon kind of couldn't take his eyes _off_ Ryan's fingers.

"Now you do that," Ryan told him, holding the lube out ready to squeeze some onto Brendon's hand. It was cold, and Brendon got two fingers slathered and then slowly trailed them by the tips down Ryan's body. Ryan undulated against him. "Yeah, fuck yeah," he whispered, eyes closed, and Brendon was about to have _sex_ with this boy, and that was, at this moment, all kinds of awesome. He carefully pushed his fingers in, slowly at first, but oh fuck Ryan _squeezed_ and expanded around him and it felt fucking amazing and he was twitching just _imagining_ what it would feel like to be doing this with his cock and not just his fingers. Instinctively, he added a third finger. Ryan whimpered.

"What, is that – not good?" Brendon stilled.

"Fuck, don't stop." Ryan's eyes were closed, his neck arched and exposed, and Brendon didn't bother resisting the urge to lick a line up it. He felt Ryan swallow against his tongue. "Don't _stop_."

Brendon pushed in, thrusting a little harder from the wrist, and Ryan arched his body off the mattress. "That's really hot, Ry," Brendon murmured against his throat.

"Just fuck me, Brendon, before I fucking explode," Ryan pleaded. Brendon took his fingers out and positioned himself carefully, guided by holding on to Ryan's hips. He pushed in, and oh fuck _yes_. He could feel Ryan, surrounding him, and fuck if it didn't feel like the best thing in the world, this whole gay sex thing was _awesome_ if it meant things like this happening to him. "Not everyone," Ryan choked out, "likes more than two – _fuck_ yes – fingers, especially at f-f-_first_, do that again, fuck, Brendon."

"I can't," Brendon grunted, "I can't fuck you and take notes at the same fucking time, Ryan."

Ryan whimpered and bucked underneath him, and Brendon thrust as hard as he could, and squeezed his eyes shut. On the backs of his eyelids, Jon smiled at him, and Brendon groaned aloud and rolled his hips. "You're thinking about Jon, aren't you?" Ryan was whispering into his ear, hot breath on his neck. "Think about doing this to Jon. Think about fucking him. Think about your hand on his dick, jerking him off while you're fucking him," said kind of pointedly, and oh. Right then. Brendon moved his hand to Ryan's cock and tugged clumsily, his rhythm thrown off. It took him a few seconds to get used to matching his hips to his wrist, and he frowned with concentration until he had them almost right. Ryan groaned appreciatively, so he figured he must be doing something right. "Think about Jon, telling you to fuck – fuck – oh, fuck, just, I don't fucking care, fuck me, Brendon." Ryan hitched his leg over Brendon's waist and suddenly Brendon was _deeper_ inside him, and it felt _fantastic_, and Ryan opened his mouth to let out small sounds. Brendon kissed him, and Ryan's tongue wrapped around his.

"Woah," Brendon mumbled, mouth full of Ryan. "A good woah," he added. Ryan's throat gave a sound that could have been _Yeah_ or _Whatever, just shut up and fuck me_ or something in between. Or it could have been _Keep your hand doing what it's doing, fuckwad_, since he'd sort of slackened his hand, stilling it; as soon as he realised this, he tightened, added a squeeze, and pulled in rhythm again. _Come on, Urie, you're a musician_, he reminded himself. _Keep to a beat._

Ryan angled his hips, and Brendon hit something, and Ryan broke away from his mouth and bit into his shoulder, whole body jerking, coming onto Brendon's hand. "Fuck yeah," he whispered, laying his tongue flat on Brendon's skin where he'd bitten.

Brendon wondered if he should stop thrusting, if it would hurt Ryan, if he was even _capable_ of stopping now, but it all became a moot point when Ryan kissed him and murmured into his mouth, "Think about doing that to Jon," and he saw that smile on the inside of his eyelids, and he came with a snap of his hips, rocking into Ryan, breathing hard through his nose.

"Oh God," he exhaled, collapsing onto Ryan's chest. He heard a soft tiny squelching sound and realised his stomach was now sticky, but the second afterglow of the night was setting in and he couldn't care.

"We should start you on blowjobs some time this week." Ryan's voice had a stretched, languid kind of a quality to it. _I never thought I'd hear what Ryan sounds like post-coitus._ "Spencer's really good for those. He gives good direction."

"I – wait, _what_?" Brendon was mellowed, but he wasn't _that_ mellowed. "I have to have sex with Spencer as well?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "You don't _have_ to. You didn't have to have sex with me, either. I'm just saying, if you want to learn how to give really good head, Spencer can teach you."

"Can't you teach me? I thought you're good at that." Brendon was still getting used to the fact that he had _just fucked Ryan_, he wasn't ready to think about going down on Spencer yet.

"I am. And I _could_, but if you want to learn from the best, that's Spence."

"So – what, he's the best at giving head?" Brendon was trying hard to keep up. Or keep his sanity. One or the other.

"No, the best at _teaching_ how to give head. I told you, he gives good direction. Oh yeah, and – so, you want pointers on the sex?"

"Um." Brendon squared his shoulders. "Alright, hit me."

"Like I was saying, not everyone likes more than two fingers. It's best to start with one, really, but that doesn't do much for me personally. Once you've been doing it for a while, two is good and three is better and dick is even _better_. Always use more lube than you think you'll need. Especially for the first time. It hurts, in the beginning more than later, so just go slow with Jon, and when in doubt, use more lube."

"Okay." Brendon had never had to think this hard right after an orgasm before. He usually just slept. "So, lube, slow, less fingers is better."

"Right. And if he doesn't say what he wants, ask him. And if he doesn't know, try something _you_ want. And, touch him a lot. The more you touch him, the better the orgasm gets, it's something to do with nerve endings."

"Oh. I should have touched you more, I'm –"

Ryan waved a dismissive hand. "You're here to learn, it's okay."

"I thought I was here to get laid." Brendon wasn't sure why he was pressing the point, just that he wanted to.

"Yeah, and to learn how to have better sex," Ryan pointed out. Brendon let it drop. "The main thing is to relax. I mean, you've had the freaking out, and now you've had gay sex, so, next time it won't be such a huge thing, right?"

"I guess," Brendon agreed. "Yeah, I – yeah."

"Go on, say it," Ryan smiled, all teeth and eyes. "I was right."

"Whatever," Brendon snorted. He really kind of wanted to go to sleep, about now. He tried to rearrange himself around Ryan's body, and realised he was still inside him. "Uh. Sorry." He pulled out, carefully, and yanked the condom off. Ryan was ready with a tissue to wrap it in, and handed him the box. They cleaned up, and settled, close and contact and it was kind of nice. Brendon curled into Ryan's side.

"Last thing," Ryan said through a yawn. "Not pulling out right away? I don't think everyone's into that, but yeah, if you are it's _really_ good. Like, you feel just full and warm, like everything's right with the world." He paused, and Brendon put one arm around him to hug him closer. "Brendon?" Ryan whispered. "Thanks for saying you'd stay over tonight. I kind of … hate the quiet, sometimes, when it's just me."

"'S okay, Ryan," Brendon murmured, nuzzling his neck, and hey, it seemed he got cuddly after sex. That was something else to know. "Any time, you know that."

Ryan wriggled a little closer, and Brendon was a little warmer, and he fell asleep listening to Ryan's breathing.

*

How the hell, Brendon wondered, did one approach one's good friend – one of one's _best_ friends – and ask for blowjob lessons? _Hi Spencer, Ryan told me about your direction skills when we fucked this weekend, can I go down on you?_ Or what about, _So Spence, how about some fellatio?_ There was always the classic, _Spencer, I have spent the last four days re-evaluating my sexuality in light of a very raging crush on a guitar tech for a band I have met once, and also the gay sex I had with Ryan and wouldn't say no to again. Would you care to give me some tips on my oral sex technique so I can sleep with said guitar tech next time he's in town and make him come so much he wants to keep me?_

He decided to get Ryan to do it.

"So I hear you're gay now," Spencer said in reply to Brendon answering his phone.

"Not _exactly_," Brendon winced slightly. "Just, uh, a little bit. Ryan talked to you then?"

"He said you two had sex so you could date this guitar guy you guys met, yeah."

Brendon closed his eyes, and contemplated putting his head between his knees. "I am never going to hear the last of this from _either_ of you, am I?" he asked, resigned.

"No." Spencer didn't even have the good grace to sound apologetic. He didn't even sound _gleeful_, which in a way was kind of cute – on Ryan, at least. Spencer was simply stating a fact. Brendon was starting to think he might hate Spencer, too.

"What if I changed my name and disappeared and went to live in a cave in Tibet?" he hazarded.

"We'd find you. We would hike there, and we would put a sign in the ground that just said 'gay sex' with an arrow pointing to your cave."

Brendon had to admit that Spencer was probably right. "I'm doomed," he concluded.

"Yes. Yes you are. And you can either be doomed with or without my help, which will it be?"

"With. Please." Brendon decided he may as well stick his head between his knees. It was uncomfortable to talk like that, but he felt slightly calmer. "When are you free?" he asked his chest bone.

"Tomorrow night good for you?" Spencer asked. "You could come over after school, I'll be the only one home."

"Okay," Brendon said to his ribs.

He couldn't concentrate in school the next day. He kept thinking about the dream he'd had the night before, of being chased by a giant penis holding a sign that read 'gay sex and guitar lessons, $10 an hour'. He rather wished he could fire his subconscious. When he got to Spencer's house, his hands were sweating and he sort of regretted eating lunch.

"Oh relax, it's not like I'm going to pull your teeth out," Spencer snapped when he saw him, and repressing the urge to kill him at least made Brendon feel like his insides were untwisting. "Come on, if it makes you feel any better we can eat cookies and watch TV first."

"That – can it be MTV?" Brendon asked. Spencer gave him a real smile, and went to get the cookies, and Brendon switched the TV on.

"Oh my God," Spencer said when he came back in, bearing two plates, "what the fuck is this?"

"Exactly." Brendon grasped at a cookie and bit into it, spraying crumbs. "I mean, look at what she's wearing."

"You were kind of born to be gay, you know that?" Spencer poked him in the side, and Brendon stopped wanting to run back out the door and get in his car and drive home and look at naked pictures of women on the internet. "Holy _shit_, who _made_ this crap?" Spencer gestured at the television. "When we have videos, let's do something imaginative, like, an entertaining spectacle and shit, this is just crap." He turned to Brendon, animating. "Me and Ryan were talking last night, about having like, this really elaborate album cover, and carrying that over to the videos – I mean, our music's gonna be complicated and shit, let's do the whole _thing_ like that – you're gay, right? You'd wear a top hat on stage, right?"

Brendon felt the rather familiar slapped-around-the-face-with-Spencer-and-Ryan's-Vision feeling. "Uh. Not really gay but getting there, yeah I'd wear a top hat. Sure, why not?" He began to sit up, mopping crumbs on his plate up with a dampened edge of cookie. "Hey, if we're talking top hats, can we do like, coat tails and nineteen-hundreds London stuff? Vaudevillian, like those couple of songs we're working on, you know, where the electronic stuff isn't working so much – we could do, like, half the record with that stuff, and some of it more, I don't know. Moulin Rouge kind of thing? You know, the whole spectacular spectacular –"

"No words in the vernacular," Spencer joined in.

"Can describe this great event," Brendon grinned.

"You'll be dumb with wonderment," they chorused.

"Returns are fixed at ten per cent," Brendon intoned.

"You must agree, that's excellent," Spencer asided.

"And on top," Brendon sang, "of your fee."

"You'll be involved artistically," they harmonised.

" – thing," Brendon finished, nodding.

"So," Spencer said after a pause, "gay sex."

"Please never start any conversations with 'So, gay sex' ever again."

Spencer cocked an eyebrow.

"Shit, you're going to be starting conversations with that until the end of _time_ now, aren't you?" Brendon dropped his head into his hands. It was becoming a familiar position.

"My mom'll be home in a couple of hours," Spencer pointed out. "You want to suck my dick, or what?"

"If – okay, I was about to say 'if I'd known it would give me this much trouble, _no_', but I – well, I _know_ you, so. I guess I can't say I wasn't warned, right?"

Spencer tapped one finger on his knee. "Fellatio?" he tried.

"At least you didn't say mouth organ," Brendon sighed. "Or is that exclusively the mating call of the common or garden Ryan-and-Spencer?"

"Kinda. Is there going to be sex or not?"

"_Yes_, Jesus, just give me a minute."

"Well, we're not going to do it _here_, come up to my room," Spencer rolled his eyes. Brendon followed him, contemplating smothering him with a pillow and whether he'd be able to do that with his head in his crotch. He concluded that he probably wouldn't be able to reach. "Okay," Spencer said when they were in his room and the door was closed, "would you rather we were lying down or I was standing up or sitting?"

"Dude, you're the one who's done this before, not me. You pick."

"How are your knees?" Spencer regarded him thoughtfully.

"They're fine, Spence – I'm seventeen, not seventy."

"Yeah, but do you want to be kneeling up the whole time? Because it makes no difference to me, but you've got to be comfortable."

"I don't – I don't know, Spencer, I'm _new to this_."

Spencer waved a hand. "Okay, fine, let me think. It'd probably be best to start you out with lying down, we can try standing later. The basics are the same, but it's good to get used to the angles."

"Have _you_ done it before? I mean, given head, not just gotten it?" Brendon was suddenly curious.

"Yeah, of course, I practiced on Ryan. Sometimes I still do, just for fun." Spencer shrugged. "Ryan makes these little noises when you go down on him, it's different to when you fuck him. They're really sweet."

_Oh my God_, Brendon thought, _Spencer's in love with Ryan._

"So, I'm going to," Spencer started unzipping his sweatshirt, and Brendon fumbled with his own.

"Should I, uh – do I need to be naked as well?" he asked, feeling like the most awkward virgin in the history of ever, which was odd seeing as how he'd fucked a guy not five days previously.

"You don't have to be, no," Spencer said, shirt over his head and pants coming down. "Unless you want me to give you head, too. Which, by the way, I'd do."

"Really?" Brendon looked at him, curious. "What about anyone else – Brent, would you go down on Brent?"

Spencer made a face. "Ew no, he's like, my brother or something."

"I kind of thought me and Ryan were like your brothers too," Brendon admitted. "Or something."

Spencer locked eyes with him, and Brendon was, for a second, wholly and utterly aware of Spencer Smith as a sexual being. "Dude, no," he said, and Brendon swallowed.

"Oh," he said.

"But Ryan's best to go to for head, oh my God, he does this little _thing_ with his tongue that, uh, I should call him soon. Anyways." Spencer sprawled out on his bed, and Brendon couldn't take his eyes off Spencer's cock, bobbing and flushed and hard and it occurred to him that until recently, he'd never really thought of Spencer as a person with a dick. Not that he'd thought of Spencer as a person with a vagina either, but just, somewhere along the way he'd become aware that Spencer had a cock, and he didn't know when it happened or how, but it didn't really matter, because he was looking at it now and _actually salivating_.

"So uh," he kneeled on the bed, between Spencer's legs, "what do I do?" And Ryan had been so right, but Brendon was never going to tell him that.

Spencer crooked a finger. "Come here first," he said, one eyebrow quirking, and Brendon felt as if he were being caught with a fishing line and drawn in. He crawled up Spencer's body and lay flat against him, nose to nose.

"Hi," he said, feeling awkward. Mostly because Spencer was naked and he wasn't.

"Hey." Spencer smiled and sort of nudged Brendon's nose with his own, and a very small part of Brendon's chest melted. They kissed, neither initiating more than the other, meeting in the middle. Kissing Spencer wasn't like kissing Ryan; he was surprisingly gentle, but emphatically strong at the same time, and for a split second Brendon thought of a lion, and wondered when circuses would stop haunting him.

When the kiss broke off, Brendon moved down to lap at Spencer's neck. He discovered that he quite liked doing that, so he did it some more, Spencer bunching one hand in his hair and tilting his head back.

"Yeah, that's _nice_," Spencer muttered, and his left knee inched upwards, brushing against Brendon's leg. Brendon pressed down against him, and Spencer arched up. Brendon ran his hands up and down Spencer's sides, brushing lightly, and over his chest and stomach, trailing fingertips up and down the length of his cock. Spencer whimpered into his ear. "You're a fast learner," he observed, and Brendon could feel the curve of his smile against his earlobe. "This is going to be fun."

"Think I know how to start," Brendon mumbled, moving his mouth down to Spencer's collar bone, over his chest to swirl his tongue against his nipples, and further down, dipping quickly into his belly button, licking stripes where hips met thighs, all the places Spencer had made sounds when he'd touched. Spencer breathed, in and out, mouth slightly open, lips wet, and Brendon kind of hoped he'd need a few lessons.

"You're – yeah, that's – good start," Spencer sighed out, and Brendon waited until the final syllable was gone before closing his mouth over Spencer's cock. Spencer jerked. "Fu- fuck yeah," he breathed. "Now," he partly composed himself, "suck, but not too hard. Do it really softly at first, build it u-u-up, like that, yes." He bucked, the head of his cock bumping against Brendon's tongue, and he felt his gag reflex twitch. He pulled off a little more, swirling his tongue against the skin to compensate. "Put your hand," Spencer instructed, "around the base, that way everything's covered without you having to deepthroat." Brendon obeyed, and oh that was easier. He started building up a rhythm, and it was _hard_, having to work out the pattern of sucks with the up and down motion and what to do with his hand. He tried sucking softly and licking a lot, up and down, and squeezing with his hand. "Okay, try twisting your wrist – _yeah_, like that. And – and don't work too hard on the rhythm, I can fuck your mouth, concentrate more on the sucking. I mean, you can go up and down and up and down all you want, but if you're not sucking much it'll just be like a wet jerk-off."

_Ryan wasn't fucking kidding_, Brendon wanted to say. But his mouth was kind of full. He shifted his concentration to hollowing his cheeks, sucking hard and then soft, trying it out.

"Mmm, that's good," Spencer told him, thrusting up into his mouth. Brendon twisted his wrist again and set up a pattern of soft soft soft _hard_ soft soft soft _hard_. Spencer twitched with every hard suck and made low pleased noises at the soft ones. Brendon was almost developing a headache with concentration, and his jaw was starting to ache. Saliva collected underneath his tongue, and he displaced it around his mouth. A little of it escaped through a corner of his mouth at around the same time he suddenly got a heady taste, something strong and musty. He licked, and realised the taste was coming from Spencer's cock, that he must be close, and he sucked harder, twisted his wrist sharper, and Spencer's hands tangled in his hair as he bucked into his mouth, once, twice, a wordless soft yelp and a third thrust and Spencer came.

It was weird, and _in his mouth_, and Brendon didn't know if he should swallow or not. He decided to try, so he pulled his mouth away from Spencer's body and swallowed – and promptly choked. Spencer held out a wad of tissues for him to spit into, and he used them all.

"Yeah, swallowing kind of takes some getting used to," Spencer said, settling back with an almost visible glow. "Some people just hate it anyway. Try spitting for a while, or pulling off right before he comes – we can try that next time. Maybe. It's not really beginner's stuff, facials, but if you wanted, we could try it."

Brendon was breathing hard and massaging his jaw. "So," he said, "how'd I do?"

"Pretty okay," was Spencer's assessment. Brendon made a face.

"I could do way better than that, I just need to try some more."

"Practice," Spencer stretched, "makes perfect." He gave Brendon a look of satisfaction, and tilted his chin upwards invitingly. Brendon crawled up his body again, and Spencer kissed him, licking at the corner of his mouth. "You know what?" he said, one arm pulling Brendon closer, "I taste good."

"I know." Brendon made some quick calculations. "How long do we have before your folks come home?"

"Not long enough," Spencer replied, not even looking at the clock. "But I'm free this weekend if you wanted to practice some more."

"Well yeah, I mean, I want to be good at this. I _can_ be good at this."

"I'm not a guitar, Brendon," Spencer said, watching him shrewdly. "Don't think of it like learning an instrument."

"But that's what I know how to _do_," Brendon pointed out.

"Okay, but you better treat me better than your piano," Spencer grinned at him. "Don't pound on me."

"Only if you ask me to," Brendon said into the space between their bodies. Spencer curled closer.

"Maybe," he said, smile crackling with satisfaction.

_Why did nobody ever tell me sex with your friends could be so awesome?_ Brendon thought, watching Spencer's eyelashes. _Must be a hideous conspiracy designed to stop teenage boys having sex. How terrible._ He opened his mouth to share this theory with Spencer, but realised that he'd dozed off. He covered them with the duvet, and kept an ear out for returning family members.

*

Jon called him the next Monday.

"Hey Brendon, remember me? Uh, the guitar tech for The Academy Is…? I was just, uh, calling. We're still on the road, doesn't look like we're going back to Nevada any time soon, but I wanted to call you and say hi. Oh, it's Jon, by the way. There's – okay, there's this woman with a sign and it says 'Free show here', and William and Mike are taking bets on what the show is." There was laughter. "Okay, I'll call you again later, so, talk to you then. 'Bye."

Brendon hung up on his voicemail and tried not to hug his phone in the middle of the school cafeteria. He hit the speed dial for Spencer's number.

"Hi?" Spencer answered.

"Hey, I just got a voicemail from Jon, he's going to call again, and dude, thank you for this weekend."

Spencer sounded like he was very softly laughing. "You're welcome. You really have it bad for this Jon guy, don't you?" He paused. "Ryan says he was hot."

"Ryan said that? Remind me to kick his ass. Anyway, yeah, totally hot." Brendon noticed the table next to his had gone silent and the girls sitting at it weren't even pretending not to listen. "I just, you know. Wanted to thank you for your help."

"Really, if I say 'my pleasure' it's kind of redundant, but any time, Brendon, seriously. You're improving."

"Good." Brendon was finding it _really_ hard not to hug himself or something. Or say anything that might out him to the girls at the next table. "I'll see you soon, Spence." He hung up, and returned both to earth and his fries.

At the end of his last class that day, Brendon switched his phone back on and couldn't decide whether to be disappointed or relieved to find there wasn't another message. He didn't have band practice, so he drove home, a depressing amount of homework riding in the seat next to him.

The phone rang as he was grabbing the bag out of the car, standing on his driveway. He yanked it out of his pocket, saw a number he didn't recognise, and answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Brendon?" It was Jon's voice, and what sounded like a busy bar in the background. "Did you get my message? I called earlier."

"I did, yeah. What was the show?" Brendon settled against the car door, suddenly not wanting to go inside just yet.

"We never found out, she wouldn't tell us. I think she was put off by Butcher, a little bit." Jon laughed, and Brendon tried not to find the sound immensely endearing. He didn't have much luck. "So what's going on? We're in, uh, backwater O'middle state somewhere. It's cold, and rainy. How's it in Vegas?"

"Cold, but not rainy," Brendon replied, climbing into the passenger seat and closing the door, because he might as well. "I have way too much homework, I graduate next semester and it's crazy."

"Yeah, that sucks," Jon agreed. "I graduated a couple of years ago, and it was pretty amazing I did, I was out on tour all the time. But I'm in college now, kind of, so."

"Really?" _I want to date a college guy, how weird is that?_ A small voice at the back of his head piped up, _But which is weirder, the college or the guy?_ He shushed it.

"Yeah, little bit. I'm on the road a lot."

"I guess I will be too, soon. I mean, right after I graduate we're recording the album. We'll tour after that."

"Maybe even with us, right?" Brendon could hear that smile. "That'd be cool."

"Yeah, yeah that'd be awesome," he agreed, and suddenly thought of vans and tour buses and the life ahead of him. "I kind of can't believe I get to _do_ all that. Touring, and making music and stuff, I mean, it's going to be my _job_, you know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do know. It's totally great, getting to play to an audience every night. It's pretty cool from backstage," he added.

"Do you ever miss it? Being in a band?"

"Not really. I mean, I guess if another band came along, the right band, you know? Then I'd want to do it again. But I'm pretty happy where I am right now."

"So this band you were in before," Brendon settled back into the seat, "did you record anything? Maybe something you wanted to, say, send me?"

Jon laughed. "We did, actually, and I have no idea if there are still copies left. I'll call Nick and ask. He was our drummer," he explained to Brendon's quizzical silence. "If I find anything, I will. What about you? Anything before this band?"

"No. Unless you count marching band. I mean, I've jammed with some of my friends, but nothing serious, you know? Not until I met Brent."

"He's … okay, I know you and Ryan, who are the other guys?"

"Brent's our bass player. Spencer's our drummer. He's awesome, you should see him on those things. He and Ryan have been friends since like, kindergarten. I only met Brent last year, he used to go to school with them. Then he moved to mine."

"It's like this whole other world. Chicago is just like, this huge scene, and you kind of end up knowing half of the people because you used to be in a band with them."

"Sounds cool. There's … not really anything here." Brendon unconsciously looked out of the window, craning his neck. "Just desert. But you can see the stars sometimes, I mean, when it's a clear night and you're far enough away from the Strip. I kind of like the desert." Brendon realised he was rambling, and stopped.

"Yeah, you can't really see the stars in Chicago. Too many lights. But we've got the lake, and seriously, the city's beautiful when it's all lit up at night."

"Maybe I should come see it." It slipped out before Brendon could think.

"Yeah, you should. _Everyone_ should come see Chicago," Jon grinned. "Shit, I have to go, we'll be back on the road any minute and I don't have a working cell right now. But I'll call you again, okay?"

"Cool, yeah. Talk to you soon."

Brendon stayed where he was for a couple of minutes after he hung up, just sitting. It was dusk, and when he got out of the car, a star winked out in the sky.

~*~

It was, Brendon decided as he looked in the (empty) fridge, a nice enough apartment. But then, at this point, anything was better than his parents' place; and besides, all they really needed was somewhere to sleep that wasn't the studio, right? He wandered back to the living room.

Brent threw his suitcase on the floor. "I call the couch," he yelled. Ryan backed out of the bathroom and shrugged at him.

"Fine. _I_ call the bed." He ran into the bedroom and leaped onto it, the momentum and the mattress springs leading him to bounce gently up and down once he'd landed. Spencer took a running jump and landed beside him.

"I call sharing," he grinned.

Ryan and Spencer each held one hand out to Brendon, who stood in the doorway. "Brendon?" Ryan said, eyebrow cocked. "Floor by the couch with Brent, or bed with us?"

"It's big," Spencer added, patting the space on his other side.

"Uh." Brendon felt in his pocket for his phone. "Floor, I think. Yeah, floor." He watched as Spencer rolled nearer to Ryan and murmured something in his ear, smiling. Ryan giggled. Brendon went back to the living room to find his things, glad he'd packed a sleeping bag.

Brent was digging around in his suitcase, and brought out a games console. "Want to play some?" he asked Brendon, getting up to put it next to the television.

"Yeah, maybe." Brendon took his phone out and played with it, turning it over and over in his hands. A burst of giggles erupted from the bedroom, as Brent stood up.

"Dude." He turned to Brendon, eyes wide. "Uh, they're making out in there."

Brendon craned his neck to see. Spencer had one hand casually draped over Ryan's hip, and their mouths didn't quite meet at the corners. He caught a flash of tongue, and looked away. "Kick the door shut," he said, unzipping a pocket of his bag. "Knew there was a reason I packed headphones," he added.

Brent's eyes were round. "I – what, are they dating? I thought Spencer wasn't into that!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But he kind of … is into Ryan, I guess." Brendon shrugged, wondering how much they'd told Brent.

"Dude." Brent sat, almost visibly processing this. Brendon patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Hey, you're not – please tell me I'm not the only straight one in this band."

"Um." Brendon blushed.

"_Shit_." Brent edged slightly away. Brendon wondered for a second if he was even aware he'd done it, and decided he didn't care because he was getting up anyway.

"Hey, if you don't want me to sleep near you now, I can go in with them." He didn't mean it to come out quite as bitter as it did.

"I'm not – I mean, it's okay, it's – really, I just didn't know."

"Well, thanks for giving your _permission_."

"Brendon, don't be like that, please? You know I'm okay with it, I just – was surprised, that's all."

Brendon felt suddenly tired. He unclenched his hands. "Fine. Don't freak out too much, okay? Me and Spencer are still mostly-straight. And Ryan's … well, you know Ryan."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Hey, uh, we need food, right? I mean, _I'm_ hungry, and they probably are," he waved a hand in the direction of the bedroom. "I could go get us some."

"Good idea." Brendon decided not to be pissed. He was so tired, and it could wait. Brent got up, grabbed his jacket, and the front door closed after him.

Brendon sank onto the floor in front of the couch and played with the phone in his hands.

"Did Brent go out?" He looked up; Ryan was standing behind the couch, hands leaning on it. He was smiling, just a little soft one, and Brendon had the sudden urge to get up and kiss the corner of his mouth. He looked back down instead.

"Yeah. He went to get food."

"Good. I'm starving."

"And. He kind of, uh, saw you guys making out. And I kind of told him me and Spencer aren't _all_ straight, and he freaked."

"Oh."

"What was it like when you told him? I mean, that you're gay?" Brendon curled nearer to the couch, hugging the cushions. "Did he freak out?"

"Yeah, at first. Mostly he was pissed I hadn't told him before. It was about a month before he brought you to practice." Ryan shrugged. "I mean, we're not as close as like, me and Spencer are."

"Ryan, my _parents_ aren't as close as you and Spencer are."

Ryan didn't really say anything to that; he just smiled wider, like he wasn't aware he was doing it. _Oh my God_, Brendon thought, _Ryan's in love with Spencer._

"If he's still freaking when he gets back, I might come sleep in with you guys," he sighed. "It's either that or punch him. Repeatedly. In his sleep."

"I think that would wake him up," Ryan pointed out.

"Yeah, you're right. You think he could take me?"

"Depends how pissed he is. He fights dirty."

"And this face is too pretty to get mussed up," Brendon pointed to his own cheek, grinning.

Ryan leaned over the back of the couch. "True." Brendon blushed and sank back onto his heels. "If you wanted to come sleep with us, we'd be cool with that."

Brendon's eyes widened. "You don't mean like –"

"We've never had a threesome. Could be interesting."

Spencer appeared in the doorway, as if he'd heard his cue. "What's this about a threesome?" he asked, eyes lighting up. "Did Brendon change his mind?"

"Kind of changing it back now," Brendon protested. "Seriously, a _gay threesome_?"

"What, would your boyfriend object?" Spencer dug.

"Not my boyfriend," Brendon mumbled, looking back down at his phone. "Just friends."

"That why you've been staring at your phone for the last week like a lovesick puppy?"

"Fuck you, Spencer." Brendon cradled the phone between his palms.

"He'll call," Ryan assured him. "He always calls."

"Yeah," Brendon agreed. "Because he's a _friend_." He didn't mean that to come out bitter, either.

"Only because you haven't seen him in months," Spencer said, moving to sit on the couch. "Come on, Brendon, you'll see him and date him and be disgustingly happy. _Mean_while, we have to live in the same apartment as you, so cheer the fuck up."

"You need to get laid," Ryan said, before Brendon could open his mouth. "We could help with that."

Brendon eyeballed him. "You know, there was a time when you weren't so willing to get in my pants, Ryan. I kind of miss it."

"No there wasn't." Ryan looked right back at him.

"Oh." Brendon felt his cheeks tinge with pink again. "Well, there was a time when you weren't _throwing_ yourself at me, and I kind of miss it."

"I'm not throwing myself at you. We had sex once, Brendon, months ago, and you've been mooning all over Jon since and seriously, we are kind of sick of your blue balls."

"We are? _We_ are? What are you, the Queen of fucking England?" Brendon curled inwards, because he wanted to.

"Me and Spencer," Ryan clarified, rolling his eyes.

"I am not having a threesome with you," Brendon felt he should point out, here and now. He wanted to call Jon.

"Your loss," Spencer shrugged. "Just cheer the fuck up before one of us punches you, okay?"

"Oh, fuck you." Brendon slumped.

His phone rang.

"Probably the boyfriend," Spencer patted him on the head and got up. Brendon flipped him off and hit the answer call button.

"Hi," he said, hoping.

"Hey Brendon, it's me," Jon said, and Brendon instantly uncurled.

Ryan took one look at Brendon's face and leaned over to Spencer to whisper, "Definitely the boyfriend." Brendon flipped them both off and headed to the bathroom.

"So how's it going where you are?" he asked, shutting the door and sitting on the closed toilet seat.

"Pretty good. What about you, you should be recording soon, right?"

"Yeah, we just got here today. They've put us in this tiny apartment together, it'll be a miracle if we all make it out alive." Brendon laughed, and it didn't feel forced.

"How long have you got there?"

"Five weeks."

"Shit, dude, that's not long."

"I know, right? We're meeting the producer tomorrow. Patrick says he's supposed to be good, so." He paused. "It's kind of weird to think we're actually going to be making our album, you know? I mean, it was like, this time last year I even met them."

"Yeah." Jon had this way of breathing, when he was listening. It made Brendon want to talk more, or maybe not talk at all and just hear that sound.

"So uh –" He was cut off by a banging on the door.

"Brendon, I have to pee," Brent called in.

"Who's that?" Jon asked.

"Brent. I'm in the bathroom, came in here so Ryan and Spencer wouldn't listen in." He got up and opened the door, sliding past the blur of Brent racing in and shutting the door after him. "And, now I'm not. Hang on, let me just – uh, yeah, the others are in the kitchen. Wait." He closed the bedroom door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. "That's better. Where were we?"

"You were living in a tiny apartment with three other guys." Jon paused. "Good luck," he said, false-brightly.

Brendon laughed. "Thanks. I'll need it. I've already threatened to punch Brent repeatedly in his sleep."

"Woah, when did you get there?"

"A couple of hours ago?" Brendon guessed.

"That was quick. What'd he do?"

"He – uh. He freaked out when I told him something, it kind of pissed me off."

Jon hesitated. "Want to talk about it?"

"I," Brendon stumbled, larynx closing up. "He, uh, he – well, Ryan and Spencer are kind of _together_ and he didn't know, and, um, he kind of freaked."

"Oh. Is that all?" Jon was listening again, and Brendon couldn't hate Jon, even though he was prodding and Brendon really, really didn't want to be having this conversation right now. Or, ever, if he could help it. _What, and never get laid?_ a voice at the back of his head whispered. _Unless you take Ryan and Spencer up on that threesome_, it added, sly. He resisted the temptation to hit himself on the head, because that would just be stupid.

"Mostly," he said in the end.

"Mostly," Jon repeated. He wasn't prying, not really, just … coaxing? It seemed like coaxing. But that made Brendon think of other things, and it took him a second to clear his throat after it went dry.

"Yeah. Yeah, mostly."

"Something tells me I should change the subject now, right?" Jon's smile was both audible and comforting.

"I guess." Brendon tried to laugh it off, but only made it part way through collecting the sound, so it ended up just a rush of breath.

When he eventually emerged from the bedroom, the other three were sitting at the kitchen table, constructing towers of – "What _is_ that?" he asked, sliding into the spare seat and looking at their plates.

"Marshmallows," Brent pointed.

"Chocolate," Ryan added, taking a bite.

"Cookies," Spencer grasped another handful.

"And some other stuff," Brent finished. "Want some?"

"Okay." Brendon grabbed at the nearest slab of chocolate and broke some off, starting to pile up the plate they'd left out for him.

"Listen, I'm sorry about before," Brent said, shifting awkwardly in his seat. "I was just kind of, you know. Surprised. You can sleep wherever you want, Brendon, I don't mind."

Brendon shrugged. "'S okay. Thanks."

"Don't let me stop you guys having a gay threesome, if that's what you want," Brent continued. "I can borrow your headphones, right?"

Brendon blinked rapidly at him. "What?"

Spencer covered Brendon's hand with his own and patted it condescendingly. "Brendon kind of has a boyfriend," he told Brent.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," Brendon pointed out.

"Only because you haven't asked him out yet," Ryan said.

"Yeah, which I can't _do_ until I've seen him again, Ryan. It's not like you can make out with someone over the phone. Anyway, I don't think he's interested, not like that."

"He keeps calling," Spencer said. "He's interested."

"Your _mom_ keeps calling," Brendon threw back at him. Spencer kicked him under the table.

"Wait, it's that Jon guy?" Brent was catching up.

"Yeah, it's that Jon guy, and when you meet him, if you breathe a word you will not live to see another sunrise." Brendon pointed a spoon threateningly at him.

"I think someone's been watching too many late-night vampire movies," Ryan stage whispered to Spencer. Brendon pointed his fingers at Ryan in the shape of a gun, and tugged his middle finger like a trigger. Ryan quickly dabbed chocolate on his cheek and sagged against Spencer, eyes closed and tongue lolling out of his open mouth.

"Gotcha." Brendon blew on the tips of his fingers. Spencer leaned and twisted his neck to lick the chocolate off Ryan's cheek. Brent laughed.

*

Brendon wedged the phone between his shoulder and his ear, foot up on the back of the seat in front of him. He tied his shoelace, listening.

"And you've got to hear it, really, it's fantastic," Jon finished. "Want me to email you some tracks?"

"Yeah, sure, that'd be great. I don't think I can get to a store soon, so, yeah. Thanks." Spencer thwacked him on the leg and he put his foot back on the floor. His shoulder relaxed and he cupped the phone with his hand again. "I really like that band you were telling me about last week – oh hey, and I heard this great song the other day, I'm gonna – hang on – yeah, okay, I'll email you a link, it was on purevolume. Ryan hangs out on that site all the time." He poked the arm next to him, which flailed out in retaliation. Ryan slipped one headphone down off his ear and glared at Brendon.

"The tour going okay?" Jon asked, as if he'd seen.

"Yeah." Brendon stuck his tongue out at Ryan, who shook his head and put his headphone back, closing his eyes and bobbing his chin in time with the music. "We survived one apartment for five weeks, we can survive a couple months in a van, right?"

"Absolutely. And when in doubt, arm wrestle."

Brendon laughed. "We do. I always win."

"Always win what?" Brent called from the driver's seat.

"Arm wrestles," Brendon answered, sliding down to poke at Brent's head with his foot. Brent swatted him blindly, eyes still on the road.

"That's because you cheat," Spencer pointed out.

"How do you cheat at arm wrestling?" Jon asked, laughing.

"Hey, hey, I don't cheat," Brendon protested.

"You _do_." Spencer turned around and grabbed the phone out of Brendon's hand.

"Hey!"

"If it looks like he's gonna lose," Spencer said into the phone, fending off Brendon, "he leans forward and kisses your nose." He handed the phone back to Brendon, sticking his tongue out and settling back in his seat. Brendon poked him in the shoulder and sat back.

"That was Spencer," he said over Jon's giggles. "And he is full of shit."

"It's true though, right?" Jon snorted.

"Yeah, whatever," Brendon grinned, sheepish. "I still win."

"I think that counts as cheating," Jon pointed out. He was still laughing.

"Hey, hey, it so doesn't. I'll arm wrestle _you_ and you'll see."

"You're on. Next time we see each other, we will arm wrestle. And he who wins … buys the other Mexican food. How's that?"

"Alright. Prepare to be beaten, Jonathan Walker."

"Oh ho, I think not. _You_ prepare to be beaten, Brendon Urie."

Spencer caught Brendon's eye and mouthed, 'Oh, just _make out_ already.' Brendon flipped him off.

*

Ryan's voice came nearer, down the aisle of the bus. Brendon tried to crack his eyes open, but they put up a fight and he figured, well, if they _wanted_ to stay closed, he wasn't going to argue. He settled for yawning.

"…Brendon'll be pleased." Ryan sounded a little like he was gloating. Brendon's eyes gave in and opened.

"Why?" Pete asked, all but sitting on Brendon's middle. Brendon yelped, and sat up, and Pete looked surprised. "Oh. Didn't see you there. So Brendon," he sat down and slung one arm over his shoulders, "I just told Ryan you guys will be touring with Academy in Europe, and he said you'd be pleased. Why's that?"

"Seriously? We're touring with them next?"

Pete laughed. "You were right," he said to Ryan. "Why?"

"Nothing." Ryan shot a grin to Brendon, who wanted to aim a kick at his knee. But moving seemed like a whole lot of effort.

"Ohhh." Comprehension dawned. "You call Jon a lot, right?" Pete grinned at Brendon, and Brendon had a very fast sinking feeling as his stomach dropped to his calves.

"Uh." He cleared his throat. "He's a friend, yeah, I do." He looked at Ryan and sent frantic _Distract him, asshole_ signals. Ryan smirked and pulled Pete up by the belt loops.

"So," Brent said when Brendon went to the pseudo-kitchen, ten minutes later, "we're touring with Academy next. Isn't that the band Jon techs for?"

"I swear to God," Brendon growled, "the next person who mentions that to me, _and smirks_, will lose their balls." He stalked back out, glass of milk in hand and iPod tugged out of his pocket. He folded into his bunk, hit shuffle play, and almost spat his drink out when the song started.

_Look at this, I've gone and broke down. Another miss, and anyone can see me laughing now_, ringing in his ears. Brendon mopped up droplets of milk from his nose with the edge of his sleeve, automatically listening to the bass. _Counting out the ways that you'll always help me, you're someone that I call friend._ He contemplated dumping his iPod in the nearest river.

_I'll be waiting for that moment to come, when I know it's you I want to kiss._

"The whole fucking world's against me, I swear to God," Brendon muttered. He paused, and mouthed 'Close your eyes' along with the song.

When it came to setting off for their new tour, Brendon kept hold of his suitcase with a slippery palm. They were first onto the bus; he claimed the bunk below Ryan's and fiddled with the zip on his case, unzipping and zipping and unzipping and zipping a few inches, until Spencer walked past and bumped him on the back of the head.

"Would you stop twitching? You're making me dizzy." Spencer smirked. "He'll be here soon."

"Fuck off." Brendon wasn't in the mood right now.

Spencer rolled his eyes, ducked his head down and kissed him, press of lips for a minute. Brendon sighed through his nose and kissed back, a little. "Relax, okay?" Spencer said as he pulled away.

"Yeah, just as long as I don't make a _fool_ of myself, everything will go swimmingly." Brendon stared resolutely at his navel.

"Jesus, Brendon, just stop it. You won't make a fool of yourself." Spencer hit him on the shoulder, a solid knock with a soft fist. It didn't bruise, or really hurt much, but it jolted Brendon's head up.

"Okay, whatever." Brendon got up and was making his way to the front lounge when he heard the bus door open and voices explode into the space, bouncing off the ceiling.

"_Brendon_!" Jon was first onto the bus, and Brendon had one fleeting second of thinking _Oh fuck, he's even hotter than I remember_ before Jon had dropped his bag on the floor and reached for him, pulling him into a tight hug. Brendon's arms went around his back, and they kind of fit perfectly, and Brendon was totally and utterly fucked. Jon was smiling into his neck, and Brendon was _really really_ fucked.

"You're here," he said, and honestly, was there anything lamer he could have said? Maybe _I have totally not spent the past nine months or so fighting the world's biggest crush on you, not at all, want to make out with me?_ Yeah, that would possibly be lamer.

"Yep," Jon agreed, and squeezed him, and Brendon was _totally fucking fucked_. And Jon was pulling away, and – oh. Brendon was meant to let go now. Brendon didn't _want_ to let go now, but after a second he did, and Jon picked his bag up again and was smiling at him and Brendon didn't think he would survive this tour. "I'd better go, find my bunk and stuff – I think Ryan said he wanted to talk to you, he's outside."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll, uh, the bunks are up there." He pointed, and Jon smiled a thanks and moved off in that direction, and Brendon allowed himself a moment or two to watch Jon's ass in his jeans before turning and heading outside.

Ryan was sitting on a low wall near the buses. Brendon flopped next to him.

"Kill me now," he said. Ryan chuckled. "You know what? I hate being eighteen."

"Why do you hate being eighteen?" Ryan asked. Brendon squinted at him.

"I know you're looking from the lofty heights of nineteen, but cast your mind back into the distant past and imagine if Spencer wasn't banging you. _Then_ ask me why I hate being eighteen."

Ryan snorted. "Told you. You need to get laid."

"Thanks, but I'm working on it. As long as, you know, my mouth and my brain stop getting disconnected when he's right in front of me, oh _God_ I sounded like such a moron." He covered his face with his hands.

Ryan petted his arm. "You'll be fine. If all else fails, Bill says he'd happily get you both drunk and make himself scarce." He grinned.

Brendon turned to him, horrified. "You told _Bill_?"

"Dude, he already knew. Must have noticed, oh, let me see, what a _lovesick little puppy dog_ you are around him."

"Oh, fuck you, Ryan. Jon said you wanted to talk, what was it about? Because I am leaving right now unless you have something awesome to say to me."

"Thought you'd need a minute," Ryan shrugged. "You know, after Jon."

Brendon stared at him. "I hate you."

Ryan shook his head, a smile that was all mocking in place. "You keep saying that, Bden. And then your head ends up in my crotch."

"Fuck off, it's called small couches. They should make them bigger if they don't want me falling asleep on my friends' body parts."

"It's called your lack of comprehension of the words 'personal' and 'space' in proximity, Brendon."

"Oh, you love it." Brendon bumped his shoulder against Ryan's.

"Duh." Ryan bumped back.

Brendon shook his head. "Touchslut."

"Whore," Ryan replied.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Look who's talking."

"Totally never going to get laid if you don't _jump the tech_."

"Shut up." Brendon didn't know why he was so fond of Ryan, but the sun was starting to think about going down, and it lit up his hair, and he was smiling, and Brendon just thought, sometimes you can't help it. So he hugged Ryan with one arm and jumped down from the wall. "I am going to do that _right now_. So hah."

Ryan jumped down to follow him. "This I have to see."

"No, this you have to get everyone else _away_ for," Brendon corrected. "Seriously, Ryan, you know how much I like this guy. Quit dicking around and let me make a move."

Ryan regarded him silently until they were at the bus door. "You should be serious more often," he said at last. "It's kind of rare." Then he opened the door and stepped inside.

Brendon followed him, saying nothing – he started to, but Jon and Mike were sitting in the front lounge, spreading some pictures out on the table, and Brendon closed his mouth and went over to look.

"Hi," Jon looked up and shifted over to make room. "We were just looking at some of the pictures I took last week." He pointed to one, a close-up of the bolt on a license plate. "I think that one's my favourite."

"You wouldn't believe what he did to get that," Mike shook his head. Brendon slid onto the seat, his legs brushing up against Jon's, and fought the blush that threatened to creep up his neck.

"Hey, it's not art if you aren't covered in engine grease," Jon grinned.

Brendon decided to wait until Mike was gone and try to come on to Jon, or at least maybe do _something_, but when Mike got up to look at whatever it was William called him over to see, Brent sat in the vacated seat.

"So," he said, "you're Jon. I'm Brent, hi."

"Hi," Jon greeted him warmly. Because Jon greeted everyone warmly. Brendon, on the other hand, was trying to telegraph _Get the fuck out right now, Wilson_ by blinking. He wished he could reach to kick Brent without hitting Jon in the process.

"Are you okay, Brendon?" Brent smirked. "You look like you've got something in your eye."

"No," Brendon said through slightly gritted teeth, "I'm fine." He was distracted for a moment when Jon shifted a little and his ankle brushed against Brendon's. Brendon swallowed. _I really, really hate being eighteen_, he thought.

Ryan passed, saw Brent, and ruffled his hair a bit too vigorously. "Come here, Brent, me and Spencer wanted to talk to you about something," he said, and Brendon tried to convey gratitude using only the slant of his eyebrows. Ryan seemed to get it, because – well, because he was Ryan. He pulled Brent away, and Jon turned to Brendon.

"Hey, didn't we say we'd arm wrestle for Mexican food when we saw each other again?" he grinned. Brendon nodded.

"Yeah. I believe I am going to prove to you that I do _not_ cheat at this," he said, scooting back a couple of inches and holding one arm out. Jon turned to fully face him and grasped Brendon's hand with his.

Brendon's fingers felt like they'd been electrocuted. "Okay, on the count of three," Jon said, watching his face with amusement. "One, two, _three_." They simultaneously gripped, and pushed.

Brendon's muscles strained. He could feel Jon's palm pushed up against his, working at squeezing his hand, and saw Jon tip his arm a little; Brendon pushed back harder. The balance of their hands tipped back, forward again, back again. Jon pushed even harder, and Brendon was going to crack any minute, and he automatically leaned forwards quickly to brush his lips against the tip of Jon's nose.

Jon was ready. He tilted his head as Brendon moved forward, and instead of connecting with his nose, Brendon's lips found Jon's, and the tip of Jon's tongue.

Brendon stopped. Jon smiled at his hesitation, and pushed sharply with his hand, knocking Brendon's against the table. Brendon sat back, heart thumping painfully in his throat.

"Hah," Jon grinned. "I win. Now you have to take me out for Mexican." He licked his lips, and leaned forward again, pressing them against Brendon's.

Brendon made a tiny sound somewhere in the region of his chest. The tip of Jon's tongue came out again, slight lap at Brendon's bottom lip, and Brendon surged towards him, kissing back, wrapping his defeated arm around Jon's shoulders, drawing him closer. Jon thrummed a sound, pleased, and rested one hand on Brendon's waist, and Brendon thought that maybe somehow he'd be able to survive this tour.

He became half aware of laughter above them, and opened one eye to see Ryan and William standing in front of them, and someone – probably Tom – holding up a camera and clicking. Jon flipped them off without opening his eyes, and pulled Brendon almost into his lap. The clicking moved to behind Brendon, so he held one hand behind his back and extended his first two fingers; the clicking moved over to behind Jon, and Jon put his hand behind his back and, Brendon guessed, made a similar gesture.

"Guys, guys, come on, let's leave them to it," William giggled. "We're about to go," he informed them. "I mean, the buses, not just us."

"Wait –" The word was partly mumbled as Jon turned away from Brendon's mouth. "Is there a Mexican restaurant nearby? Brendon owes me takeout."

"I'll go get it," Ryan offered. "I don't think Brendon wants to move right now." He snorted, and William leaned against him to laugh.

"Screw you," Brendon muttered, distracted as Jon traced a line of kisses over his jaw. "Get us burritos," he added. Ryan reached over to pet his head, and left, William following.

"Think they'll give us the back lounge for a date if we bribe them?" Jon murmured.

"Worth a shot," Brendon answered, and he couldn't really quite be sure that Jon had just started making out with him, so he nudged Jon's mouth back to his own, just to check.

It was fun, Brendon discovered, to conduct almost the entirety of a first date with your mouth full. "You know, I don't think I've talked less on a date in … ever," Jon mumbled against Brendon's neck.

"What we're doing is way better than talking," Brendon breathed, sneaking a bite of cold takeout and deciding to abandon it. Jon's tongue making its way up to the skin just under Brendon's ear was _much_ more interesting than food anyhow. He slid one hand under Jon's shirt and splayed the palm against his back. Jon arched into him, and Brendon hadn't had sex since _February_ and was kind of a little desperate and judging by the way Jon was rocking against his leg, so was he.

"Fuck," Jon muttered, shifting until he was sitting on Brendon's lap, one leg either side, pressing down. "This is kind of uncomfortable," he added after a second, and moved back. "But, it was nicer."

"Nmmh," Brendon nodded. His brain had sort of imploded the second Jon had _ground against him_, and he was having trouble remembering the English language. "Hnu."

"Oh, I agree," Jon teased, brushing one hand down Brendon's chest and resting it on his hip. Brendon arched. "Totally hnu."

"Shmn," Brendon tried, but Jon chose that moment to flick his hand against the button of Brendon's jeans, and any words that had gathered at the door of Brendon's brain, waiting to be let in, were scattered.

Jon angled his body in a curve around Brendon's side, licking his neck and slowly undoing the button with his left hand. "Did you know I practiced this with this hand?" he murmured. Brendon swallowed. "Just in case." He pulled on the zipper, down one tooth at a time, and Brendon was going to come in his fucking pants if Jon kept murmuring against his neck and brushing with his hand, so fucking _light_.

"Nmn," he whimpered. Jon reached the end of the zipper and pushed Brendon's underpants slowly down. He looked.

"Nice," he said. Brendon really kind of missed words. They were such useful things. Jon put his mouth right next to Brendon's earlobe, tongue flicking out a little at it, and murmured, "I don't normally do this on a first date, but. I don't normally flirt for nine months on the phone before a first date, either." Brendon opened his mouth to say something, but Jon's mouth was gone suddenly and then – and _then_ Brendon felt something wet and warm and all he could think was that he'd practiced _giving_ head but not _getting_ it and maybe he should have called Ryan.

"I," his tongue unstuck a little, but then he looked down, and Jon was looking back at him, and his _mouth_ was on Brendon's _cock_ and his pupils were dilated to fuck and Brendon had never, in the whole of his life, been so turned on. "Fuck," he managed, torn between the instinct to throw his head back and close his eyes and the urge not to move at all. He settled for breathing hard and staring as Jon moved his mouth up and down, wrapped his hand around and twisted at the base, and fuck he _was_ good at this. He wondered if Jon had practiced with anyone, but didn't get far before the thought train was derailed as Jon sucked, a sharp harsh pull, and oh fuck it felt amazing and Brendon's hips bucked up.

"Mmnm," Jon hummed, and oh fucking shitting fucking _fuck_ – Brendon threw his head back and let his hips twitch up, and he didn't care that he was about to come and it had only been three seconds or something, he didn't _care_, because Jon was sucking him off, and Jon's _tongue_ was _swirling_, and Brendon squeezed his eyes so tight he saw stars on his eyelids.

Jon didn't take his mouth away for a minute. He swallowed, little by little, tongue working, and Brendon twitched each time he did, and it was almost too fucking good, his skin was so _sensitive_ and Jon released him with a wet pop.

He stood, stretched, and curved back onto the seat beside Brendon. "That was fun," he said, wiping a stray droplet at the edge of his mouth and licking his fingertip. Brendon's entire bone structure had melted into the seat, but he pulled Jon towards him and kissed him, fierce, his hand going quickly to Jon's pants, yanking the zip.

"I'm not," he panted, language at last sauntering back into his brain, "as good at this as you, not right now, just – but when I can – you'll see, I'll be –"

"Brendon," Jon cut him off, arching into his hand, "you could pretty much just touch me, right now, and I'd be done."

"Fuck." Brendon pulled him closer, and it was an awkward angle but he didn't care and Jon didn't seem to either. This was likely because Brendon had just discovered that Jon wasn't wearing any underwear. He wrapped his hand around Jon's cock, tight, and _fuck_ if he didn't love how it felt.

Jon curled and whimpered into his neck, and Brendon found his mouth and kissed him, pulling with his hand. Once, down again, twice, down again – Jon shuddered and gripped his arm, mouth breaking away to rest against Brendon's cheek. Stuttering breath shivered past his ear, and he caught a muttered, "Fuck, fuck, Brendon, _fuck_," and it was very possibly the hottest sound he had ever heard. He pulled one more time, twisting his wrist; Jon's entire body gave a shudder, and Brendon felt something sticky against his fingers.

Jon relaxed against him, and Brendon nudged their mouths together again. "You weren't kidding," he murmured into it.

"No," Jon agreed, boneless. "I've kind of been wanting to do that since, oh, the night I met you." He nuzzled, and hey, it seemed Jon got cuddly after sex, too. That was good.

They moved and resettled a little bit. Brendon still had his (sticky) hand on Jon's stomach. He didn't feel like moving it. "Really?" Brendon wondered if it had been the Beatles shirt, or what, but he didn't ask.

"Yeah. I was just," Jon glanced at him, a smile curved up his jaw, "waiting for you to notice."

In answer, Brendon kissed him.

*

He greeted Ryan the next morning by grabbing him by the hips from behind and smacking a kiss to his cheek, then taking a slice of toast from his plate and walking away, munching it and humming. He heard Ryan giggle behind him.

"What the hell?" Spencer asked as Brendon jumped full-length onto the nearest couch seat.

"I left him a … gift, on his pillow when he was in the shower." Ryan crunched, and through a mouthful, said, "The strawberry flavour and our spare box."

Spencer laughed. "I'm guessing the date went well," he called over. Brendon held two thumbs up over the top of the seat. "Which base?" Brendon flipped him off. "Only one? You delicate flower." Brendon added his index finger. "Two? That's more like it. You're such a lady, Brendon, not putting out on the first date."

Brendon hummed the tune of _My So-Called Friend_. Spencer snorted.

He heard someone come in and stretch, but he was facing away. "Morning, Jon," Ryan grinned, and Brendon sat up.

"Why hello," Jon greeted him, moving to sit on the seat, almost in Brendon's lap. "If it isn't my boyfriend."

"Pish, we've only had one date. You'll have your wicked way with me and dump me unceremoniously." Brendon nuzzled their noses together.

"Oh God, it's hideous," Spencer groaned. He turned to Ryan. "What have we _done_?"

"Created a monster," Ryan replied. Jon and Brendon simultaneously flipped them off. Brendon nudged his bottom lip against Jon's, who curved it in a smile.

"Merciful Zeus," William's voice boomed, "what's this? Boys, making out on my bus, and I'm not invited? For shame, you two, for shame." He squeezed Jon's shoulder as he passed, settling next to Ryan. "Save me, my dears, from my kissless state." He draped an arm dramatically over Spencer's shoulders. Ryan laughed, and pressed a kiss to his neck while Spencer stood on his tiptoes to push his mouth to William's. Brendon watched, his head leaning against Jon's.

"This is the gayest bus I have ever been on," he whispered.

"You obviously haven't toured with Pete and William at the same time," Jon observed.

Brendon thought about that. "No, yeah, you're right. _That_ would be the gayest bus ever." He paused. "Throw in the Rejects as well, though."

"Oh. Tyson. Right," Jon nodded. "I don't really know them, but yeah, their fame precedes them, etcetera."

Brendon turned to look at him. "You just pronounced all the syllables in that," he said. "And if we start compiling the gayest bus ever, we may be here for a while."

"And we have better things to do than that," Jon finished for him.

"Exactly." Brendon smiled, and leaned, and ignored the disgusted noises Ryan and Spencer made at them.

For their second date, Brendon took him to the pool hall next to the venue they'd be playing later that night, and lost two games – because, he claimed, Jon was distracting him.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jon asked, eyes innocent, one hand in Brendon's back pocket and squeezing.

"Oh, _let me think_," Brendon rolled his eyes and pushed back against Jon's hand. He directed _I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck_ at Jon's side of the stage that night, and bounded into the dressing room after the show, Jon leading him by the hand.

He set him down in front of the mirror. "Get the gunk off your face, and get to the bus," he murmured into Brendon's neck, gave his earlobe a tug with his teeth, and left the room. Brendon took his makeup off in record time, Ryan beside him applying a fresh coat of eyeliner and smirking.

Brendon kissed his cheek. "I," he said, beaming, "am about to get laid." He almost skipped out of the room.

"You're welcome," Ryan called after him.

He managed to sneak onto the bus unnoticed – a feat he wasn't sure he'd be able to repeat later, and he could only conclude that Jon Walker had magical qualities – and fumbled his way in the semi-dark to his bunk. Where something lumpy was waiting under the covers. Something that squeaked when he poked it.

"That was my kidney," Jon informed him, turning over. He pulled the covers back, and Brendon started to grin, because Jon was naked, Jon was naked and _in his bunk_, and his life was pretty fucking awesome right now. He yanked his shirt over his head as Jon reached to pull his pants down, and he stepped out of them and into the bunk with Jon.

It was slightly crowded, but neither of them minded. Brendon's hand went under the pillow, and he pulled out the bottle of strawberry lube and the box of condoms. "Present from Ryan," he said. Jon chuckled.

"Remind me to thank him tomorrow." Jon kissed the centre of Brendon's chest, then to the left, then to the right, and Brendon tingled all over. He reached for Jon and touched him, fingertips brushing over every inch he could reach, and Jon shivered against him. "Brendon," he breathed, moving until he was lying flush on top of him, joined at the pelvis and the mouth, slowly grinding.

Brendon moaned into Jon's lips. "Fuck yeah," he panted, as Jon broke away to fumble with the box of condoms. "Don't stop."

"Shh," Jon leaned down to kiss him, soft. "Do you want to, or shall I?"

"Wh- oh. You. Want you to."

"That's fine with me." Jon tugged a condom out of the packet and bit his lip as he rolled it onto himself. "Okay. Now there's …" He picked up the lube.

"I'll do it." Brendon took the bottle and squeezed some onto his hand. He spread his legs, and remembered Ryan, tried to do what he'd seen him do. His fingers slid in, and fuck, it felt good. Jon watched, leaning their foreheads together.

"Fuck, that's hot," he murmured, pressing their noses together. He squeezed some lube onto his own hand and nudged Brendon's out of the way, pushing inside with two fingers as he kissed him, slow and hot and press of tongues and fingers and Brendon could get used to this, he really could. He angled with his knee, giving Jon better access, and Jon added more lube and a third finger and it kind of hurt, sort of burned, but he didn't so much mind as get distracted by it, brows bunching in the middle. Jon noticed, and stopped. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it – just kind of hurts. Uh, go slow?"

"Okay." Jon pushed his fingers in slower, and brushed Brendon's cheeks and nose and forehead and lips with the tip of his nose. It was possibly the sweetest thing Brendon had ever experienced, and he relaxed, melting against the bunk.

"Hey –" He got some lube onto his palm, and wrapped it languidly around Jon's cock. "Don't want to forget this, right?" Jon bucked into his hand and exhaled against his cheek. Brendon smiled. "Definitely won't be forgetting about this," he murmured, softly pulling.

"Brendon, I – I have to – can I –"

"Yes," Brendon breathed. "Whatever it is, _yes_."

Jon removed his fingers and positioned himself. "Okay, um, have you – wait, no." He frowned.

"What?" Brendon really wanted Jon to just be fucking him now. Jon leaned down and kissed him quickly.

"Just tell me if it hurts, okay?" he whispered, and started to push in, and Brendon opened his legs as wide as they'd go and yeah it did hurt but Jon was _fucking him_ and it wouldn't hurt so much soon and –

"Just, just keep going slow, oh God," Brendon moaned.

"I don't know if I," Jon panted, straining, "Brendon, fuck."

"I know. Oh God, I know." Brendon rocked his hips, but that sort of made a sharp sting blossom out, so he stopped that and settled for just whimpering. "I want you to – I just, I – it'll hurt less later," and he arched his back as Jon licked at his neck and fucked him slowly. The slipslide, the feel of Jon's cock _in him_, then Jon's hand grasped at his cock, and pulled, and Brendon groaned and reached blindly for his mouth and one day he would last more than a couple of seconds but right now he was going to come, any minute, any fucking minute, because Jon was fucking him and making noises in his throat that belonged in _porn films_, and it was so fucking good, and he wanted this to just, to happen to him all the time, just, sex with Jon, this should happen all the fucking _time_, and he came, panting out, "Jon, Jon, _fuck_."

"Oh shit," Jon moaned, shaking hard, "can I – please, I have to –" His hips jerked forward, faster, harder, and it burned more, and Brendon chewed on his lip but bent his knee and pressed both thighs against Jon's body, and Jon grasped at Brendon's mouth with lips and teeth, fucking him harder – it fucking _hurt_ but Brendon was kind of mesmerised by the look he'd seen on his face – and then he shuddered, biting a little at Brendon's lip, coming and stilling and breathing out in one long exhale.

He collapsed against Brendon, head on his chest. "I," Brendon tried to get his breath back, but Jon pulled out and that _really_ stung for a minute. Still, Jon had just _come in his ass_ and it was pretty much fucking awesome.

"Oh, wow," Jon summed it up.

"Let's do that again. Later. And. In the morning. And tomorrow night. And," Brendon added, "and some more after that."

"Good plan." Jon kissed the skin under his mouth. "I like that plan."

"Me too." Brendon became aware of something digging into his thigh, and fished out the box of condoms, now slightly bent. _How appropriate_, he thought, tossing it behind the pillow and making a mental note to thank Ryan. Possibly with flowers.

*

"That was a good show." Jon passed the hot bundle to Brendon, who unwrapped a layer of waxed paper and removed a handful of thick-cut fries. Though they were called chips here, which made him suspicious. He was used to chips and dip, not chips and fish.

"Yeah, the crowd was awesome." Brendon passed it back, and chewed. The chips kind of fitted their name, somehow. He huddled in his jacket as the breeze picked up, twisting a crumpled sheet of newspaper down the street, in and out of the pools of orange light given off by the lamps. A bus rattled past, and Jon took his hand.

"Hey, you know what I've been thinking?" They found a break in the buildings, a low wall holding up a small patch of grubby grass, like a gesture towards nature in the middle of the city, and sat down. The bag settled on their knees, Brendon's hand dipped into it again and his fingers slipped as he tried to grip a ketchupy chip.

"What?" he asked, sucking on his fingertips and trying again.

"Um." He couldn't be sure in the half light, but it looked like Jon was blushing. "Ryan seems kind of … like, uh, you and he and Spencer, you have this thing where none of you really have personal space around each other. It reminds me a bit of Bill, actually."

"Yeah?" Brendon wondered where this was going. Jon's tone wasn't accusatory, and he hadn't sounded jealous before. He didn't, come to think of it, sound jealous now.

"Well, I was wondering." Jon paused. "You guys have had sex, right?"

"Um. Well, yeah, I – okay, remember when we met, last year? Ryan kind of, noticed I had a crush on you, and he said, since I was otherwise not gay, I should practice. With, y'know, a friend. The whole, sex with guys thing."

"Yeah, he – he has a point," Jon nodded. "The whole thing is weird at first."

"Right. That's what he said, yeah. Anyway, I had sex with Ryan and went down on Spencer, for practice, and then you called and – that was it." He shrugged.

"I wondered." Jon looked thoughtful. "They're kind of – I mean, they're together, right? But they seem like it's – I don't know. Open? Kinda?"

"Are you trying to work out Ryan and Spencer? Because I think people could devote their entire lives to studying Ryan and Spencer and still not figure it out," Brendon smiled.

"Right."

"Jon." Brendon nudged him with his side and swung his legs. "What is it?"

Jon sighed. "I was thinking about us and them having a foursome," he blurted.

"Oh." Brendon blinked rapidly, breathing shallow as he thought about that. "They – you know they both think you're hot, right? And, you know, they're both – I mean, they're good at, stuff. And uh."

"You want to, yeah?" Jon was starting to smile; the kind of smile that brightens by the moment. Brendon wanted to watch it, wanted to catch it and taste it. He leaned forward.

"Yeah, I want to," Brendon breathed. "I really kind of want to."

"Me too. I thought you might." Jon breathed out through his nose. "Think they would?"

"Hell yes." Brendon knocked the chips to the ground as he grasped at Jon's waist, but he didn't care. "Hell yes. You," he reached down to lap against the hollow at the base of Jon's throat, "are the best boyfriend in the world, you know that?"

"Yeah," Jon exhaled, pulling Brendon's mouth towards his.

They found Ryan back at the hotel, sprawled on his front on the bed, reading a dog-eared book, an open notebook next to him. "Hey," Brendon greeted him; Ryan looked up and marked his page, moving to make room. Jon had hold of Brendon's hand, and they kept the contact as they sat, fingers nestling against each other. "Where's Spencer?"

"He went out to get food with Brent," Ryan replied. "Why, what's up?"

Brendon glanced at Jon. "We kind of, uh. Wanted to talk to you guys about the four of us … um. Having sex," he finished, looking back at Ryan.

"Oh." A smile was spreading over Ryan's jaw. "Jon? You want to have sex with us?"

"Yeah, I mean, if you wanted to, yeah." His fingers brushed up and down against Brendon's, and Brendon squeezed his palm slightly.

"_Yeah_ we want to." Ryan yanked his phone out of his pocket and hit a speed dial number. "Spence?" he said. "Get your ass back here. I don't care if – look, do the words 'foursome', 'Brendon' and 'Jon' mean anything to you?" Ryan's eyes crinkled at the corners. "See you in a minute." He disconnected. "It's safe to say Spencer's pretty eager," he told them.

"I don't even care that I'm missing food for this," Spencer banged the door open two minutes later, kicking it shut behind him and rushing forward. He stopped in front of Brendon, cupped his jaw until Brendon's head was tilted up to look at him, and said, "Hi."

"Hi," Brendon answered, and his heart was pounding but Spencer leaned down and kissed him, and Jon leaned against his shoulder to watch, and it really was pretty great. And he'd thought about this happening before, but now it _was_, and he had Jon's arm around his back and stroking up and down it, Spencer's tongue in his mouth (he tasted a little of something fried and savoury) and Ryan, Ryan was standing behind Spencer and reaching around him to put one hand on Brendon's thigh and one on Jon's – and all Brendon could think was that he must have done something seriously awesome to get this kind of a life.

"You're pretty when Spencer kisses you," Jon murmured into his ear as Spencer moved away to trail a fingertip over Ryan's jaw. Brendon turned and caught the tip of Jon's tongue between his lips, smiling.

"We are all wearing too many clothes," he said, and Jon nodded in agreement.

"You have a point," Ryan said, and there was a sound of material hitting the floor, a zipper or two pulled down. Brendon had his eyes still closed, his mouth still on Jon's, and they undressed each other blind, fingers knowing the way by now.

The four of them piled onto the bed – a king size, "Because me and Spence need some room," Ryan had said when they'd booked it, and Brendon had blushed and looked away – and Spencer kissed Jon, slow, while Ryan leaned over their bodies to pull Brendon closer. "You have the best ideas," he said, mouth inches away.

"Don't thank me, thank Jon," Brendon breathed, and kissed him. Ryan made a pleased noise in his throat, and Brendon felt hands on him and didn't know whose they were but it really didn't matter. He stopped counting, stopped noticing, just felt skin against his mouth, and lips and fingers touching him, and how _perfect_ the four of them felt. They all turned inwards and Brendon and Spencer were caught in the middle, all their legs tangling together as Ryan and Jon hooked thighs over hips. Ryan fished the lube out of the drawer – it smelled like pineapple and the tube was bright yellow – and Brendon arched and pushed and said, "What – what, exactly, do we do?"

"I think this is pretty good," Jon said, shifting over Spencer to lick at Brendon's neck. "I think we just, do this."

"I don't know," Spencer pulled Ryan closer, "I think we could do more than this." He turned onto his side and murmured, voice low, mouth close to Ryan's skin, "I could fuck you while you fuck Jon and Jon fucks Brendon. How's that sound?"

"Good," Ryan exhaled, "sounds good."

_Sounds difficult_, Brendon wanted to say, but Jon was turning him around by the hips and he forgot to think when he felt Jon, pushing in, pulling him close. One hand, two hands, came to splay on his stomach, and Ryan and Jon's fingers twined and settled on Brendon's cock, tangling and pressing and pulling and it felt fucking fantastic and he could hear Spencer moaning and Ryan muttering all their names in a string interspersed with "fuck" and "fuck yes" and "fucking best – _there_". Jon was pressing close to Brendon's ear and whispering, "This is – fuck yeah," and Brendon was in total, total agreement.

*

Light filtered in the next morning through the blinds. Brendon opened his eyes; someone was humming _An Ode To Maybe_, and he looked to his left and saw Spencer with his head propped on his hand, smiling down at Ryan and tracing patterns on his hip with a fingertip. Ryan was stretching and smiling back. Jon made a sleepy sound behind Brendon and nuzzled closer.

Brendon turned over a little to face him. Jon's eyes weren't open yet, but when Brendon kissed him, he kissed back. "Morning, sleepy," Brendon murmured.

"Did we really have a foursome with Ryan and Spencer last night?" Jon whispered.

"Yeah, you did," Spencer broke off humming to reply.

"Oh. Good." Jon stretched. "I'd've been disappointed if it was a dream."

"No, you'd have found us and made it _not_ a dream," Ryan pointed out.

"Okay, true," Jon nodded. He opened his eyes, and smiled up at Brendon. "I like my boyfriend," he said, pulling him down for a kiss. Brendon smiled into it.

"We should do this again some time," Ryan said, and Brendon felt and heard him shifting closer to Spencer, heard them kissing.

"Definitely," he breathed, brushing Jon's hair off his forehead.


End file.
